


We'll Meet Again

by MissMoochy



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Grim Reapers, M/M, Near Death Experiences, POV Matt Murdock, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29409474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Wherever there’s death, Matt hears them. Voices. Sometimes, it’s a feminine voice, sometimes masculine, sometimes it’s something in between. Different accents, young voices, old. But all of them are calm, unhurried.He heard a voice when the chemicals blinded him.He heard a voice when his father died.Matt Murdock has made a startling discovery. The Grim Reaper exists. Not one single entity, but millions of them! They live in limbo and visit Earth to harvest souls. He stages meetings with one to ask him about the complexities of the afterlife. He never expected to fall in love with him. But love is difficult, and long-distance dating can be challenging. The reaper, Foggy, isn’t allowed on Earth unless he’s harvesting a soul, which means Matt needs to find a willing person to die. He lucks out with Wade Wilson, an immortal mutant with nothing better to do. Wade can hang in the boundaries between life and death, while Matt and Foggy spend quality time together. It’s fine for now, but not sustainable.
Relationships: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Team Red Server Valentine's Day Pop





	We'll Meet Again

[Art by BlueBioluminescence](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/797966089820438588/810268288105316362/gravityreaper.jpg?width=327&height=390)

They called him a hero in the papers. He didn’t feel like a hero. Heroes are brave but he was terrified. He acted without thinking. All he knew was the truck was coming and the man was going to get hit. His body flew forward without conscious thought. But he saved him.

* * *

He lay there on the road, cringing as pain stabbed him in the eyes, the face. His skin was stinging, screaming. Later, he’d think back on this moment and recall the feeling of a person leaning over him, her hair spilling across his face.

“Oh, Matthew Murdock. I thought it was my time to take you. Poor boy. But don’t worry, this is just a false alarm. You’ll survive.” Her voice crackled like a scratched record.

Through the pain, he didn’t feel the light touch of her fingers on his forehead. She departed as quickly as she’d appeared.

Wherever there’s death, he hears them. Sometimes, it’s a feminine voice, sometimes masculine, sometimes it’s something in between. Different accents, young voices, old. But all of them are calm, unhurried. 

He heard a voice when his father died.

“Oh hang on there, son. What’s the hurry?”

“I think that’s my dad,”

“Hey wait!”

But he ignored him, he had to get to his dad. He ran to his side.

Dad’s face felt cool and sticky. Blood clung to Matt’s fingers, like treacle, thick, warm and wet and it coats his palm. All over, it was everywhere. He felt his dad’s face, his nose and his laughter lines and felt nothing. Nothing moved, no ripple of a wrinkle, no smile beneath his hands. Nothing. He couldn’t make sense of it, it’s dad, he shouldn’t be like this, it’s dad — 

And through it all, the stink of blood, the shouts of the cops, he heard it, a woman’s voice, clear as a bell:

“Come on, Jack. Time to go home.”

He turned his head in all directions, tried to hone in on the voice, so calm and quiet, so kind. But the police officers were there, and strong hands grabbed at him and the men were saying things that were muffled by his sobs. He just wanted his dad.

He never did find out who that woman was. At the time, he was just a kid, so he didn’t question it. There was too much to think about it, he was swallowed up in a storm of grief, his life was thrown into upheaval for the second time.

But he did ask a police officer who the lady was. The cop said there was no lady.

* * *

He asked Stick once, if he heard voices. Voices that tell you to come home. Stick had taken in a rattling inhalation of breath and laid a heavy hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“Kid,” he’d said. “Don’t tell people you hear voices. That’s how you get locked up.”

Matt nodded, and Stick said no more on the matter.

But since then, he thought sometimes that he could hear it. Voices travelling in the wind. _Time to go home. Come along with me. Time for us to leave._

* * *

Was he haunted? Was this some bizarre subconscious desire to find meaning in death? He wasn’t in denial, he knew what a traumatic thing it is to lose your parent when you’re far too young. He must have imagined the voice.

Matt ran a hand over his jaw, feeling stubble prick his palms. He sighed. “I’m cracking up,” he told himself.

He never felt more alive than when he was with Elektra. The ripple of her hair, the scent of her skin, the way she touched him, igniting fire in his veins. Everything paled in comparison. Studying and school and debates, what did any of it matter? He was in love. He’d found a kindred spirit in the darkness.

But he failed. Standing there, with her, the bloodied body of Roscoe Sweeney, his father’s murderer and he. Couldn’t. Fucking. Do. It. One slash of the throat and that bastard would never hurt another soul, ever again. But his hands shook, he refused. He was weak. And she was done with him.

When Elektra was nothing more than a name and a memory of hot lips and clawed nails, it took time to heal. He wished he had friends to confide in, but there was nobody.

* * *

Leaving Landman & Zack was like shedding his skin. He hadn’t realised what a hold that company had on him. Soul-crushing drudgery with cynical co-workers, losing days of his life to the ticking of a clock. He was going to break out, make it on his own. To actually make a difference and help people. It’s what his father would have wanted. And yes, he was doing it alone, but perhaps he could hire another lawyer once his practice gained some clients.

There’s so much pain in the world. So many wicked men. And he heard it all. Screams ripping through the night, crunching bones, the wet burst of knives through flesh. Every frantic shout seemed to slice through the air and burrow into his ears. It’s a curse.

But when he finally snapped, after one more night of hearing a little girl scream, the answer came to him. There’s justice in violence, he could harm the sinful and protect the innocent.

Most nights, he patrolled the neighbourhood, shrouded in a makeshift mask and dark clothes. The muggers and thieves are fast, but he’s faster.

When he met Karen Page, all he thought was: _I have to protect her, I have to save her._ Somehow, she managed to wriggle past the armoured shell around his heart and slip past every defence. She was his friend and he’d die for her.

* * *

One night, he heard it. He’d just finished tying up a mugger, and the victim was still trembling in the alleyway, a terrified teenager curled up on the ground. He told her to call the police and she was asking him questions, who is he, what’s his name and then he heard it.

A gunshot and a scream. A terrible scream.

He hurtled out of the alley, leaving behind a volley of questions and launched straight towards the sound. His nose was picking up scents as he reached the alleyway, gun oil and blood, hot wet sticky syrupy blood...

He reached the man slumped against the wall and he could hear the attacker running away. Flimsy sneakers slapping on the sidewalk. His hands reach for the man — no, the boy’s chest, and blood poured over his knuckles. The smell was too strong, the blood was too thick.

The boy was calm, too calm, and Matt could sense the knife in his hand. He’d never had a chance to use it. He’s in a gang. He expected death.

“Stay with me,” he hissed, but he knew it was futile. The boy was leaning on him, a heavy weight of cooling meat, and his eyes were closing and Matt gently lowered him to the ground. Listened to the final faint thumps of his heartbeat. 

“Luis?”

A voice. Clear and strong, and so close.

“Luis, you need to come with me. My name is Foggy. I’m here to take you home.”

Matt lashed out with fists but with his nose clogged with the thick stink of blood, he was useless. He was disorientated and he tried to hear for a heartbeat, but in this alley, there was only his. Frantic and frightened and bumping against his ribs like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” he asked but the voice didn’t reply.

“Luis Barerra? Can you come here, please?”

There was something in the alley with him. A presence. He tried to sculpt the shape in his mind, pick out details, shoulders, a sweep of hair. But there was no warmth, no persistent heartbeat. The body moved, bones and fat and skin, with the rustle of clothing but there were no signs of vitality. No life. There was a smell, like an unused room. Old, forgotten.

He strained his ears, dug his fingers into the meat of his palms, and tried with every cell in his body to detect more sensory data. Matt felt too big and stupid with blood swishing through his veins and his heart pumping loudly. He was polluting the sound.

He thought he sensed movement from the boy’s — Luis?— corpse, but the body remained where it is, a slab of cooling flesh soaked in blood.

“There you go.” The voice was light and airy, with a bracing reassurance. “Okay, we’re going to go on a little trip.”

There was a pulse of energy rising from the dead boy, white-hot and flaring in Matt’s senses. It hurt to focus on it directly, like staring at the sun. He cringed against the wall, his head aching from the blistering rays that arced outwards from the corpse.

The creature, Foggy, made a sympathetic sound. “I know, buddy. I know you’re tired and you’re confused but I’ll try and explain as much of it as I can. But you need to come with me.”

What this monster wanted with the boy, he didn’t know. But damned if he was going to let it take him.

Just as Matt lunged wildly, the voice died and the strange entity disappeared, taking the ball of energy with it. He was alone.

* * *

He asked Father Lantom about it. Sat outside with him, gulped a mouthful of his latte and said, “Does anybody accompany us when we die?”

“That’s a morbid topic to discuss on a—” Lantom checked his watch. “Friday morning. Why the sudden interest in mortality?”

“I was wondering. I… read a man’s account that he almost died and he heard a voice. In a magazine.” he lied. “He said he heard a voice. Telling him to come home.”

“Perhaps it was an angel. Or the voice of one of his loved ones in the afterlife, awaiting his return?”

Matt smiled and shook his head. That explanation is too kind. But it’s what he would expect from Father Lantom. “No, he — he didn’t recognise the voice.”

Lantom considered this and sipped his drink. “Perhaps he heard the voice because he wished there was somebody with him. He was lonely and he wanted a friend, so he imagined he had a companion…”

“Maybe.”

* * *

He didn’t think of angels or kindly relatives beckoning from Heaven. It had to be something more sinister.

For the next month, Matt staked out cemeteries until he realised what a dolt he was and visited the hospital instead. He wore a suit, walked around with a clipboard and nobody stopped him. His new ally, Claire assisted him, when she could, although he didn’t tell her fanciful tales of voices. He said he was searching for something in the hospital and she needed to tell him when a patient died. She agreed, baffled.

Claire informed him that a patient, Erin Dunn, was growing weaker and they didn’t think she had long. She had no living relatives and would Matt like to stay with her?

He agreed. Sat by the old, wrinkled figure in the bed, and waited. And waited.

If he strained, he thought he could sense a faint movement in Dunn’s bed, a shifting, something rising. A burst of heat.

“Hello, Mrs. Dunn. My name is Foggy, I’ve come to take you home.”

Matt threw out an arm and his fingers snagged on fabric. Rough cotton, he pulled on it, the fraying fibres tickling his fingers.

“Don’t take her! Not yet!”

His arm was reassuringly thick, with a softness to it. Cool to the touch.

“Matthew Murdock,” said a voice, and there might have been a glimmer of bemusement in it. “Now there’s a troubled soul.”

The voice, the body… It occupied a physical space. He could feel it, sense it at the edge of his awareness.

“Don’t go,” Matt said urgently. “Not yet. I heard you. Before. With the boy. Luis?”

“Oh, I forgot about that. Well, you certainly scrub up well. I like the suit and tie better than the…black pyjamas. I can’t stay for long, buddy, I need to escort this guest to the party upstairs. She’s here with me right now. She can’t talk to you, though, sorry. Are you two friends?”

“I’m — no, I don’t know her. I need to know who you are. ” He gulped. “Are you an angel?”

Foggy’s laugh bubbled in his throat, light and unbothered. “Yeah, sure, I’m an angel! I left my wings and halo at home! Do I look like an angel?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see,” he said automatically.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to do my job. Um, it was nice seeing you again. Matt.”

Something bothered him, that this creature knew not just his name, but his preferred nickname. He didn’t question it, but the suspicion embedded itself in his brain.

“You think we’ll meet again?”

“I hope not,” Foggy’s voice was fainter now, like he was passing by in a car. “For your sake.”

* * *

Claire kicked him out. Too risky, him being there. She asked him if he found what he was looking for and he shrugged.

A month later, he got stabbed.

He was distracted, one guy got his hands around Matt’s neck, and the hot grip of fingers digging into his throat made his head spin. His breaths were ejected from his windpipe, short and spiky, jagged slivers of pain.

He thought at first that the other guy punched him in the back, but then he smelt his own blood.

They got away. He limped to Claire’s apartment and slipped in and out on consciousness, hearing her steady hands as she stitched him up. 

There was movement in the corner of the room.

“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” the voice was soft, but singing off-key. Matt tried to sit up. Claire pushed him back down with a snapped remark, and he lay on her couch and listened.

“Hello again. Your friend has a nice apartment.”

“Who are you?” he asked, and Claire stiffened beside him, but he shushed her, giddy on adrenaline and blood loss. She got off the couch, presumably to put her first aid kit back.

“Come on, dude, you know this. We’ve met, like, two times before.”

“Are you here to take me home?”

“No. I mean, yes. I was sent here just in case you didn’t make it, but what can I say? Your hot nurse friend is too good, she saved your life. You should get her a present. What do girls like? It’s been a while since I was… you know… _alive._ ”

“Are you following me?” He tried to map out where Foggy is, and he thought he might be standing by the window. Foggy threw his hands up dramatically.

“Oh, right, because the world revolves around one Matt Murdock! Sorry. I’m a bit tightly-wound at the moment. I had to hustle from my last appointment to get here in time to meet you. I wanted to be the one to take you home if…if you didn’t make it. I said to the others, I said ‘That Matt Murdock is mine. He’s _my_ guest. You gotta let me have him.’ and they were cool with it.”

“Others? There are others…like you?”

“Yup. As a job, it’s pretty good. Reasonable hours, you get to travel and people are always _dying_ to meet me—”

Claire returned. “Okay, that should hold it for now, but you gotta take it easy—”

“Shhh!” Matt begged her, and she tensed again, but there was nothing. No body by the window, no strange old smell like books and dry paint. No Foggy. He sighed, sank back onto the couch cushions. “Thanks, Claire.”

* * *

They say that you only find love when you’re not looking for it. Perhaps, death is like that, too.

He’d almost finished with patrol one night, when he heard a gunshot and took off running. The gunman collided with Matt on his escape and they both tumbled to the ground. Matt grabbed at him, clamped his fingers around a handful of hair and smashed his face into the ground, rolled with him, ducked punches and kicked the gun from his hands. He felt the guy sag in his arms, fall to the ground, unconscious. The victim was lying there, a well-built man spread out on the damp sidewalk. It had rained last night and the air still smelt cool and moist. 

The guy reeked of sweaty leather and metal, and a strange, sickly-sweet odour that makes Matt’s insides want to curdle. And he was dying. Blood flowed freely from the gaping wound in his chest but he made no effort to move.

Matt dropped down beside him and pressed his hands to the gaping maw to staunch the blood flow, but the guy slowly shook his head.

“Don’t worry about that.” His voice was smooth, and unworried, and he absent-mindedly patted Matt’s hand with his own.

“You’re dying, I’m sorry,” he choked out. This never got any easier. So much death, so much violence and he heard it _all._ “There’s nothing I can do.”

“It’s okay,” the man gasped and he actually sounded like he meant it. His heartbeat, although weak, was constant, no blip of fear. His sour breath wafted on Matt’s cheek. “I don’t stay dead for very long…”

The guy’s ragged breathing was growing softer, and his hands slackened on Matt’s.

Matt sat with him, cross-legged on the sidewalk with rainwater sinking into his clothes and he waited.

He felt it. The presence of…something, someone. Walking slowly, cloth dragging on the ground and the scrape of a heavy metal rod in its arms.

“Hello again, old friend,” Foggy said and some childish spike of jealousy reared its head — for Foggy was speaking to the dying man and not Matt. “I think this might be the longest time we’ve gone without seeing each other.”

“Hey there, Foggy, come to take me home?”

“That’s what I’m here for! You know, she’ll be glad to see you. Even if it isn’t for very long,” Foggy told him, and then he’s bending down and reaching for Wade, as if he was about to embrace him. And Matt can hear it, the swish of hair on his collar, and then he lifted up that beautiful, hot rush of energy. He thought he heard Foggy heft it in his arms, the ball of pure energy, juggle it into place with the heavy metal pole he was carrying. He wished he could see.

And they walked away, the two of them, but with only one set of footsteps. Foggy’s. And Wade was lying beside Matt, but his body was too still and cold. Nothing. No heartbeat, no flutter of eyelids, no pulse. An absence of something. Something intangible but potent had been ripped free of Wade because the body that lay beside Matt was just a shell. It felt different. It smelt different.

Matt didn’t know how long he sat there, but at some point, Wade’s eyes flickered open and he drew in a pained breath.

“Wade?”

“Hey, man. I’m back. Death smooched me. She’s totally got a thing for me, it’s adorable.”

“You’ve met Foggy before?”

“Yup. As I said, mortality doesn’t last seem to stick with me.”

“…Would you like to go for a drink?”

* * *

Matt went home for a change of clothes and then they dropped in at Josie’s. Nobody commented on Wade’s bloodstained shirt. The other customers gave the two men a wide berth.

Wade noisily gulped down eel shots like water, earning him an approving nod from Josie. Matt was at first rather alarmed, but as Wade explained more about his powers, Matt soon realised that alcohol had little to no effect on the man. He had healing powers so strong that he _cannot_ die. He could be killed but his body would repair itself in no time. Which meant that he found himself meeting the grim reaper on a regular basis.

“Yeah, he’s not _The_ Grim Reaper,” Wade spoke with his mouth full. Matt had bought him a packet of chips. “There’s loads of ‘em. He’s one of New York’s reapers. Every city in the world has reapers.”

Matt digested this. Not an angel. Not a demon. A grim reaper. It had never occurred to him that there may be more than one grim reaper. “Has he always been a reaper?”

“Nah, he was human once. Reapers live longer than humans. I mean, they’re not technically alive. It’s complicated. From what I remember, Foggy said that he was human but he died. He wasn’t a bad guy but he wasn’t good enough for Heaven? Or he didn’t _want_ to go to Heaven? I can’t remember, damn swiss cheese brain, sorry. But yeah, when you don’t go to Heaven or Hell, you become a reaper.”

“But he’s dead?”

“As disco,” Wade confirmed. “I think reapers can sometimes interact with humans in extreme circumstances, but they don’t like to do it. They tend to stay invisible and only show themselves to their Guests. I’m not sure why _you’re_ able to sense reapers. Must be those freaky powers of yours.”

He hadn’t had much choice but to tell Wade of his powers and his position as Hell’s Kitchen’s protector. Wade had a similar gig, he called himself Deadpool. He’d been a vigilante for longer than Matt.

“Guest?”

“Yeah. When they take you to the afterlife. They call the dead humans — well, the human souls — their Guests. They take it pretty seriously. The alternative would be navigating the afterlife by yourself, which is pretty grim, from what I hear. _Grim._ Geddit?”

“I get it. So, you and Foggy, you’ve been his Guest for a while?” It was hard keeping the jealousy from his words. If Wade picked up on it, he didn’t mention it.

“Yeah. I don’t fear death—” he said and he actually meant it. His heart rapped out a rhythm steady and true. “—so I never panic or anything. I think some souls have a really long journey to the afterlife. Foggy said he once spent a human year escorting some girl to the afterlife because she was so scared. The more scared or confused or fucked up you are, the longer the journey. With me, it’s just a short walk. But we do it so often, I almost always end up getting Foggy in the draw. I think he chose me as his Guest because I usually get him when I croak. Occasionally, I’ve been out of town and it’s been a different reaper who escorts me but when I’m in NY, it’s always Foggy. It’s no big deal.”

“And you’ve met Death?”

“Oh yeah. Mm, and lemme tell you, the hottest lady I’ve met for a long time. Don’t let the lack of skin put you off. She’s a beaut! And she’s _so_ into me. But I don’t believe in long-distance relationships, so I don’t think it would work out…” Wade shrugged.

Matt fidgeted with his coaster, to occupy his hands. Trying for nonchalance, he said, “Have you ever met the Devil?”

“No, I don’t think so? I was briefly married to the Queen of the Underworld — but she ditched my ass for Dracula! I couldn’t believe it. What has that ugly, old bloodsucker got that I don’t?”

Wade’s heartbeat said _truth, truth, truth_ but then, he must be a more accomplished liar than Matt thought because he was clearly joking. Matt sighed. It seemed like he wasn’t going to get any more straight answers out of the man.

* * *

It was actually Wade who suggested it. He offered to come back to Matt’s apartment and ‘we can mess about and see what happens’. Sounds suggestive when out of context, but sounds even stranger when you have all the information.

“We’re talking about murder. That’s not right,” Matt says as they walked home.

Wade shoulder-checked him and the guy didn’t know his own strength. Matt stumbled. It was hard to imagine that he’d been shot to death only an hour before. “Nah, it’s not murder if you’re willing. You ever read about that German guy, the cannibal? And he wanted to eat a guy, and he put an ad on the internet? And he actually found a guy who wanted to be eaten? And they had a _marvellous_ time!”

Matt frowned. He considered himself an intelligent guy but he had trouble keeping up with Wade’s erratic train of thought.“Is that a movie?”

“No, it was a real thing. Anyway, this is like that. You need a dead body so you can meet your reaper, and I don’t have any plans. We should totally do this.”

“What are you planning to get out of the deal?”

“Well, some silence in the old cranium, for one thing.”

Wade had mentioned his mental illness in passing. He heard violent voices, and had problems with perception. Besides that, he seemed relatively well-balanced and oddly charming, in his way.

“Death is a relief for you?”

“Yeah,” Wade said softly. “It is. It’s like a nice, long sleep. And hey, maybe I’ll be able to get some more facetime with Lady Death! You know, mwah mwah mwah!” he said, while making the most obscene kissing sounds Matt had ever heard. They’ve reached the apartment and he could smell home.

“Okay, we’re here. Wipe your feet before you come inside.”

“Pushy.”

* * *

“You should fire your interior designer.” was all Wade said when he took a moment to survey Matt’s apartment. But then, he’d already made himself comfortable, kicking off his boots and raiding the refrigerator. Wade munched on celery sticks, the wet snap as loud as gunshots as he paced a lazy circle around the living room.

“That billboard is so annoying, you wouldn’t catch me living here.”

Matt sat down on his couch and sandwiched his hands between his knees to stop them shaking.

“Have you given any thought on how you want to die?”

“Nope! I was hoping you’d have some handy bag of tricks in your Patrick Bateman bachelor pad, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I get unalived a lot. But it’s usually unexpected and by people who hate me. It’s going to feel weird getting killed by a guy who is indifferent to me.”

Matt wouldn’t say he’s indifferent. He quite likes Wade.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” His confession was a whisper in the night, and Wade was interested enough to stop his gluttonous chomping. “Murder. Even if it doesn’t last long. Even if it’s consensual. Tonight, you confirmed for me that Heaven and Hell exist. I have rage, Wade. I feel it, in my stomach, it — it boils inside me, it feels so hot and it makes my skin hurt. So much anger. I feel like I’m already on thin ice. My soul…”

“You think you’re already headed for Hell…?” Wade said slowly and Matt could collapse in relief that the man has cottoned on so quickly. “You think that killing me will tip you over the edge and give you a fast-track pass to Hell?”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“Dude, there are way too many bad guys in the world for somebody like you to be admitted into Hell. Trust me. I’ve been to Hell, I married its Queen. You’re not Hell material. You do a lot of good as Daredevil, I’ve seen it in the papers. If that wouldn’t set you up for Heaven, it would at least put you in limbo. Limbo isn’t that bad, I think,”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do, man. But hey, if you don’t wanna kill me, you don’t have to. I’ll kill myself. You’ll still get to meet Foggy.”

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Have you got anything I can use to waste myself? I left my gun in that alleyway and my katanas are at home.”

Matt didn’t answer, but he left the room and returned with a kitchen knife.

Wade whistles in appreciation. “Nice. What did I say, Bateman? Okay, you’re going to want to lay out a towel or something. This will be messy.”

It was. Wade stretched out on Matt’s floor, languid limbs and easy breathing as if he was camping under the stars. He sprawled out comfortably, angled the knife over his stomach and drove it home.

And Matt listened. He heard it all. The wet splutter of Wade’s breath, the rush of the blade tearing through meat. He tried to block it out but the noise filled his brain, taking up too much space and he fell, crashing to the rug by Wade’s body.

“We must stop meeting like this,”

“Foggy!” Matt tried to sit up too quickly and his head spun. He groaned, took a breath to steady himself and Foggy dropped to his knees beside him.

“Hey, buddy. Nice place you’ve got here. I love your mood lighting.”

“Mood lighting? Oh, the billboard. This wasn’t murder, Foggy. He consented.”

“I figured as much,” Foggy said lightly. “Wade’s kind of an odd duck.”

“Yeah, he is,” Matt laughed, relieved. “It’s…good to hear your voice.”

“Thanks! Yours, too. I’d say let’s do this again, but you and I move in different circles, you know?”

“How long do we have?”

“Hard to say. It depends on how quickly Wade’s soul ascends. Some deaths take longer than others. Let’s just try and make the most of this, huh?”

“Sounds good to me,” Matt agreed. He held out a hand and reached for something, anything. His fingers clasped hold of fabric, thick and rough, like sackcloth. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, that’s me. That’s my totally, stylish reaper robes. Wearing them over my jeans. I don’t need to wear them, but you know, people expect the Grim Reaper to have a certain aesthetic.”

There was so much Matt wanted to say to him, so much he wanted to ask him. Words tripped on his tongue like strangers rushing out through the fire exit, and he said something incomprehensible that made Foggy chuckle.

“Try again?”

“I don’t know what I want to say.” Matt said, frustrated. His fingers curled in the handful of cloth, he could feel that familiar, skin-prickling itch of irritation in his veins, something that can build into anger so quickly. But then, he felt it. A soft, cool hand wrapping around his own, the textured pads of thumbs rubbing on the backs of his knuckles.

“It’s okay. You’ve been going through so much, lately. It’s alright if you don’t know what to say or what to do. I’m sure we’ll meet again, Matt. From what I’ve seen, trouble sticks to you like glue. You’re bad news, dude.”

“Just…tell me something. About you. Anything.”

“Okaaay. My name is Foggy Nelson, I am a lifelong Hell’s Kitchen boy. I like the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh laundry. My favourite date idea is having a meal at a pub and then vegging out in front of the TV and — oh, I think we’re out of time.”

“No!” but it was too late, Wade’s soul was rising, heavy and hot and flashing in his awareness like a burning ember. It rose and he knew Foggy was going to leave.

“Can’t you stay? Just for a bit?”

“I mean, I’d love to, but I got a job — we’ll meet again, Matt — come on, Wade, hop to it, soldier—”

* * *

When Wade regained consciousness, he was still lying on the floor with Matt’s knife embedded in his ribs. Matt couldn’t bear himself to touch it, to touch Wade and feel the cold, smooth skin of a corpse. So, he sat, cross-legged and waited.

“Did we do it? Crap, sorry. Brain’s still kinda…muzzy…” Wade slurred. Matt got to his feet and shuffled to his kitchen to fetch him a glass of water

Once Wade was sitting upright on the floor, with his back against the couch and a glass in his hands, he spoke. “So, was _Operation: Meet The Reaper_ a success?”

“Yeah. It was. I… He gave me his name. He grew up in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Oof, he grew up in this dump? Sucks to suck.” Wade mused, and yelped when Matt kicked him. “Alright, don’t get your rosaries in a twist. So, are you going to do anything with this info?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to track him down?” He said it as if it was obvious, the next logical step.

“Track him — Wade, he’s dead.”

“Yeah but — you could find out more about him. Figure out what kind of life he had. Maybe he’s got family in town, they could tell you about him.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. He thought about it. Foggy’s family, people who had known him and loved him. Seen him when his skin was flushed with life, when blood swam in his veins and he’d walked through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, happy and unconcerned.

“I know a PI. She’s got a temper to match yours, but she’s good at what she does. I’d be willing to pay for her services if you want.”

“Why are you helping me?”

Wade clapped him on the back with a shovel-like hand. “I like you, Magoo. You’re a good guy.”

“That’s kind of you but I don’t think I should pry. I’ll probably never meet him again.”

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind. I should get going.”

Wade had snatched Matt’s burner phone off him and programmed his number into it. He’d handed it back to him and Matt had pocketed it, dazed. It was humbling, meeting another powered human being. He’d been able to tell him about his powers without fearing disgust or disbelief. And Wade had been a witness to Matt’s discovery of reapers. He wished contacting Foggy was as easy as dialling a number. There was something about the man that fascinated him. It wasn’t the lack of a pulse or some morbid curiosity on Matt’s part. It was something else. Foggy felt familiar. The first time Matt had heard his voice, a small shred of his being had reacted to it. Like some buried instinct had reared its head. Now, he had more information and knew Foggy was no sinister force, he was just a man with a job to do. Matt’s instincts told him to trust him. Foggy seemed to genuinely care about the souls he harvested, he was kind and gentle with each one. Matt lay in his bed that night, thinking of scratchy robes under his palms. He wondered what it would feel like to have your soul ejected from your corpse. Bright and burning and beautiful. And Foggy lifting him up in his arms and carrying him ‘home’. Foggy must have done this with hundreds of human beings. Thousands. Had he — had he been the reaper to harvest dad’s soul? Had he spoken to him? Had he heard Jack Murdock’s dying words? He had to find out. He had to meet Foggy again. And that meant one thing: he’d have to get Wade on board.

* * *

Wade was bored, he said. Apparently, his buddy was away on some jaunt abroad and he’d got tired of making conversation with himself. He swung by Matt’s apartment, smelling a lot cleaner than he had in their previous meeting. He brought beer, which was nice of him. Especially considerate of him when one considers that he was going to be spending the night in a pool of blood.

They sat on Matt’s couch, drinking beer and making small talk to avoid the fact that here they were, doing this again. Matt had scrubbed his floor and replaced the rug, but he still couldn’t erase the stink of the dried blood from last time.

Wade sighed, lolling on the couch as if he belonged there. “I can’t believe I’m saying this because I’m the last person who should be giving advice but — don’t date the reaper.”

“I thought that song was called Don’t _Fear_ The Reaper?”

Wade flicked Matt’s ear. “Smartass. Just be careful, okay? The laws of life and death are mystifying things, far beyond our human ken.”

“Please! You play fast-and-loose with the laws of mortality! Didn’t you tell me earlier how you got to second base with Lady Death?”

“I’m not sure if I’d call it second base. She doesn’t have a chest, dude. I got my wristwatch caught in her ribcage.”

“Didn’t need to know that.”

“Okay. Just be careful, will you?”

“Aw, do you care about me?”

“Ugh. I know you can’t see but I’m flipping you the bird right now.”

“I’m not interested in Foggy like that. I want to ask him some questions about...somebody I knew.”

“Neat. I’m going to go slip into something more comfortable. Maybe a coma,” Wade said and patted Matt’s back as he passed. They’d decided that he probably didn’t need to be in the exact same room as Matt for this to work. And it would be cleaner if he died while he was in the shower. So, Matt listened to Wade walk in, sit down on the tiles and shoot himself in the head. 

* * *

“Wade?” Foggy’s voice was coming from the bathroom. Matt sat there, straightened his collar, fiddled with his sleeves. He heard Foggy enter the room, robes dragging behind him, scythe scraping the wall.

“Oops sorry, gotta watch where I wave that thing,” Fogy mumbled and Matt’s face broke into smiles. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t have contained the dopey grin if he’d tried.

“Hello, Foggy.”

“Matt! Is this going to be a regular thing? Don’t get me wrong, I’m always happy to see you, but I want to make sure Wade’s cool with this,”

“It was his idea.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Foggy drifted over, and sat down beside Matt. His robes brushed Matt’s legs. He shrugged his hood off and ran his hands through his hair, shaking it out over his collar. Matt gripped his knees, resisting the urge to touch him. His senses were calling to him, filtering in sensory information. Soft, glossy hair, the colour was unknown to him, but the sound of it on his collar was enticing. He wished he could touch it, find out if it felt as soft as it sounded.

“You said he was an odd duck.” He didn’t want to spend their time together talking about Wade but he wasn’t sure how to lead into any deeper conversations. _Have you met my father? Does he talk about me? Is he in Heaven or Hell? Do you know my mother?_

“I did.” Foggy plucked up Wade’s empty bottle and raked his nail down the label, flaying it from the glass. Matt was wondering if he was fidgeting due to nerves. If he had a heartbeat, he would know for sure. “So, are you guys friends now?”

“I guess? Does that make _me_ an odd duck?”

“No way, you’re a handsome duck.” Foggy froze, his fingers slipping on the glass. Matt turned so fast his neck twinged in protest. “Oh, sorry,” Foggy said. “I don’t know if that was out of line, it’s been a while since I — I don’t really know how to do this,”

“Me neither. This is new for both of us. Um, actually, I was wanting to ask you some questions.”

“Sure, ask away. I think we’ve got a bit of time. Wade’s fighting the death, he’s hanging in between. What do you want to know?”

“Wade told me that Hell is real. So, that implies that Heaven exists.” 

Foggy nodded. “Sorry, I just nodded.”

“And God?”

A shrug. “Um...”

Matt sighed. “Right. You probably can’t tell me. My father. Jonathan Murdock. Do you know him? Do you know where he is?”

“I do,” Fogy said promptly. “I mean, I do know where he is. I haven’t met him. He died years before I did, so I would have been a kid. But I know the location of every harvested soul, even the ones other reapers took.”

“So, he’s in…”

Foggy took his hand gently, laced their fingers together. His hand may not feel warm with a healthy blood flow, but it was solid and it fit Matt’s hand perfectly. It felt right. Foggy took their joined hands and pointed them up to the ceiling.

Mat’s breath left him in a sudden rush and he sagged against the couch. His palm slipped from Foggy’s and he wished he could take his hand once more. “Heaven. He’s in Heaven.”

“Of course he is. He’s a good person. And so are you.”

He spoke it like it was some universal truth that couldn’t be denied. _A good person._ His words washed over him, calming his agitated flesh. He felt wired, stuffed with nervous excitement. His father was in Heaven. In some way, he was living on. Watching over his son.

“Can you take me to him?” he said breathlessly. “Or bring him down here to meet me?”

But Foggy shook his head. “I can’t. I think, deep down, you knew that. I’m _really_ sorry, Matt.”

He expected it. But it still hurt. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. He wouldn’t be able to get down to Earth. It’s a different plane of existence, it’s not — it’s like trying to make a fish walk on land—”

“But you’re here,” Matt snapped. Anger flared under his skin, like a hot fever. So sudden that it shocked him. “You’re here and he’s not. I get you, I don’t get him. And that’s fair?”

“It’s not exactly a ball of laughs for me! I’m a reaper, I don’t get shore leave. I come here, do my job and leave. Speaking of, I should see what’s keeping Wade—” Foggy rose, his robes swishing around his ankles and the possibility that he was leaving hit Matt like a sack of bricks. 

He seized Foggy’s wrist. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t grill you for information.”

Foggy groaned in exasperation but he sounded like he was smiling. He flopped down on the couch right beside him, and his hair tickled Matt’s neck. It was softer than he’d imagined. He wanted to nuzzle it. “You can ask me one more reaper question. But next time, I’m going to grill _you.”_

He liked that. _Next time._

“My mother. Maggie Murdock. Is she… Is she upstairs with my father?”

Foggy hummed thoughtfully, leaning his head on Matt’s shoulder. “She’s not h— I’m trying — did you say Maggie?”

“Yes. Maggie. She might be known to your people as Margaret?”

“Can’t seem to get a lock on her. Damn.”

A chill ran through his bones. “She’s not in Heaven?”

“She’s not anywhere, man. Heaven, Hell, Limbo. I’m not picking anything up. That’s weird. You’re sure she’s dead? Yeah, no, sorry, of course, you are. I don’t know. I’m sorry, that’s never happened before. Wish I could offer you something more conclusive.”

He was disappointed but it had been a wild shot in the dark. He turned his head and Foggy’s hair brushed his face. He discreetly inhaled, filling his senses with that strange, forgotten scent. It was impossible to describe. Ink? Old books? It was subtle, not invasive to his senses. He could drink it in by the lungful.

“Okay, now I really gotta go. Wade’s soul is yoyo-ing around in your bathroom. Poor guy.” Foggy heaved himself up and smoothed down his robes. He picked up his scythe where it lay on the floor. “Remember, next time we meet, I’m going to pick your brain, Murdock.”

“Looking forward to it.” Matt grinned cheekily and laughed when Foggy threw a couch cushion at him. Foggy darted into the next room and his spirit and Wade’s bled into nothing. Matt sauntered into the bathroom to wait for his friend to wake up.

* * *

“Wade! How do you feel?”

“Tell m-me…” Wade gasped and coughed.

“What? Tell you what?”

“ _Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?_ ” he sang softly, and Matt chuckled and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Never thought you’d be a Grease fan.”

“You’re right to be doubtful. I’m more of a Rocky Horror guy. Enough about me. How was it?”

“It was—” _Incredible._ “Good.”

“Good.”

“Did you get a kiss?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I mean, I literally died for you and you won’t let me live vicariously through you.”

He had a point. So, Matt told him. He told him everything. 

At some point, Wade extracted a flask of bourbon from his jacket pocket and took a swig. He passed it over and Matt took a sip, and they passed the flask back and forth. A warmth settled in his stomach and they sat there, joking around and talking and it was amicable.

“Can you taste, like, the backwash?”

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. I don't mind.”

Do you like puzzles?” It was so random, and so innocuous that Matt threw his head back and laughed.

“Puzzles? Jigsaws and stuff? I don’t know… I don’t hate them. I don’t do them enough to have an opinion on them.”

“No, it’s — I was thinking of this brain teaser thing. Lateral thinking.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So, there’s this chick, okay? And she’s at her mom’s funeral and she sees this guy attending the funeral. She’s never seen him before but she falls instantly in love. Anyway, the next week, she kills her sister. Why does she do that?”

Matt reflected on it for a good thirty seconds, but he had to admit he’d drawn a blank. 

“Because she knew it would be the only way she would see that guy again! At her _sister’s_ funeral. My friend told me about that brainteaser. That buddy of mine, the one who’s out of the country right now. He loves puzzles, he's such a nerd! And when he told it to me, I immediately knew the answer. Because it made sense to me. Logical sense.”

“I suppose you must be cleverer than me,” Matt said mildly. He wasn’t sure why Wade was telling him this.

“All I’m saying is, it’s good that _you’re_ the one in this little star-crossed lovers quandary and not me. Because if it was me, I don’t think I’d like the guy I’d become.”

* * *

“You seem different,” Karen said, on Monday morning. Matt smiled over his coffee and said nothing.

He didn’t encounter Wade for a few days. His new friend was busy, doing ‘hero work’ — or so he claimed. But he texted Matt throughout the day, sending him jokes and little observations about his day.

**10:11am Just ate a wicked hot dog. — Wade**

**10:34 I saw a cute puppy. — Wade**

**12:23 Some guy got stabbed in my friend’s bar. He died. :/ On the upside, I got to see your pal, Foggy. — Wade**

Foggy. He rang Wade, drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for the call to connect.

“Hey, Magoo! What’s the haps?”

“Hi. How’s Foggy? What did he say?”

“Whoa, don’t even spare a second to ask how I’m doing. That’s cold, Murdock. He was in good spirits. Well, he _is_ a good spirit! Damn, you didn’t laugh. Anyway, I told him you wanted to meet him again, so I said I’d swing by your place tonight and shuffle off the mortal coil, and all that.”

Matt decided not to question that Wade knew _Hamlet_ quotes. The only predictable thing about Wade Wilson was that he was truly unpredictable. “Tonight? We’re going to summon Foggy tonight?”

“Yeah. I told him I’d go over to yours at, maybe, eight. Is eight PM too early for murder? I can never tell.”

“It’s fine, eight is...great. Did he say anything? Did he mention me?”

“Yeah, he said it would be nice to see you again, and it’s a date.”

“What? What did he say?”

“He said it’s a date. I mean, that’s what we’re doing, right? All this stuff we’ve been doing?”

“Is it a date?” Matt said, aware that he sounded like a teenage girl but unsure of how to be anything else right now. “He said it’s a date? Does he think it’s a date?”

“I — I don’t know, man, why don’t you ask him tonight? Is this okay? Do you _want_ it to be a date?”

“I…” Did he? He was momentarily speechless. Dating Foggy. He could summon him whenever he wanted and it would be okay because Foggy would be his boyfriend. Foggy, sitting with him, talking, telling him everything and listening to Matt. he said he wanted to ‘grill’ him, ask him everything. And Matt wanted to tell him. It was thrilling, the thought of spending more time in this man’s company. And more… If Foggy was his, Matt could touch him. Run his hands through his hair, find out how it felt to slip between his fingers. He could touch his face. He could touch his lips.

“Yes,” he said. “I want it to be a date.”

“Okay,” Wade said gently. “See you at eight, I guess. I gotta go, bye.”

“Bye.”

He was distracted for the rest of the day. Karen picked up on it, of course, she did. When she asked him if he was feeling alright, he told her. Actually said the words out loud.

“I have a date tonight.” He couldn’t keep the grin off his face, and he thought she might be smiling too. Her hug bolstered him up, filled him with warmth. She was happy for him, truly.

* * *

He’d dated plenty of girls, even a couple of guys, but this was different. Foggy was different. There was something effortlessly calm and unruffled, the way he stood, talked, gestured in the air. He was like a lighthouse, standing still in Matt’s chaotic world, and he felt like if he could just touch him, hold onto him, he might be able to catch his breath and rest.

Wade had brought his gun this time. He assured Matt that yes, it had a silencer, he wasn’t going to bring the police to his door. He perched on a stool in the kitchen while Matt sat on the couch. He had to admire the man’s bravery. Wade’s heartbeat was steady as he aimed the gun at his head. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. He slumped on the counter afterwards.

“Matt?”

_Foggy!_

“Foggy!” He leapt up but was almost knocked down by a sudden weight. Hugging him, Foggy was hugging him. Beautifully solid skin, his hands on Matt’s face. And the most wonderful laugh he’d ever heard, golden laughter spilling in his ear. So many mood indicators were lost, Foggy was dead, there was no thumping heartbeat or sheen of sweat, no hormones raging beneath the skin. But that laugh. He was so happy.

“Hey,” Matt said, and he threw himself into the embrace, spreading his hands on Foggy’s broad back. He wanted to cling to him, meld with him. Fuse their forms together. Foggy’s skin was cool to the touch and yet he warmed Matt. It was something under the skin, it was more than skin and blood. 

“Matt! There was a baby! I got summoned, there was a baby and she was — it was in the hospital and her mom looked so scared. And they couldn’t see me, but the baby...”

Matt gripped Foggy’s robes. “What happened to the baby?”

“She’d been strangled by the umbilical cord. I got sent there in case she didn’t make it, so I could carry her home, right? But she made it! They, um, the doctors, they were all crowding around her and they managed to get her breathing again! I’m so happy — I’m —” 

Matt was smiling when Foggy kissed him. He’d grinned in relief at the thought of that innocent child who’d come so close to death but had been given a second chance. So he was smiling already when Foggy kissed him, soft and sweet, on his lips. It lasted seconds and then Foggy pulled away, his fingers falling from Matt’s face.

“I’m sorry, I was—”

“It’s fine. Really. Wade said that you said this was a date…”

“I sort of hoped it was. I know that sounds… I really like you, Matt. Always have.”

“You haven’t known me for long!”

“Ha. Yeah. Let’s sit down, tell me about your day…”

So, Matt told him. He sat beside him, there on the couch, and relayed to him the events of the day. Karen, their clients, his commute. And Foggy sat there, his leg a pleasant pressure against Matt’s, and he listened.

At some point, Foggy began to fidget, smooth down his robes and arrange his hood over his hair. Matt sighed. “Wade’s ready to go, right?”

“Yeah. Sucks, but...what can you do?”

“You can’t stay?”

“Can’t,” Foggy said. “I’m only allowed on this level when there’s a soul for me to harvest.”

“Alright,” Matt said reluctantly. Before he departed, Foggy hugged him again.

“I’ll see you as soon as I can. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Matt said to an empty room.

* * *

Matt and Foggy went on several more dates, with Wade to chaperone. Wade wasn’t entirely happy about this, but although he grumbled, he still attended every one. The problem was, Wade had to be kept in the vicinity of Foggy. And Wade had to be in a state of near-death in order for Foggy to be able to remain there. If Wade died too quickly and his soul ascended, Foggy would leave with him. Leaving Matt to sit with Wade’s corpse, waiting for life to return to him.

But if Wade’s death was too slow, his body would begin to heal, his incredible healing powers stitching his flesh together and pumping fresh blood around his body. He was amazing, well, his powers were. Matt could constantly smell that sickly-sweet smell that he knew were the cancerous tumours eating away at Wade’s body. Wade should be dead. And yet, he wasn’t.

Wade tried to give them space. He stayed in the other room, stinking of blood and his body flaring with pain. But sometimes, he was in a whimsical mood.

“I bequeath my guns to Weasel. He can sell them to the mercs in his bar…” Wade was staggering around Matt’s living room, clutching at his gut. He’d had a new idea for a death, some rare poison that he’d managed to obtain. It was supposed to give you a slow-acting death, so they were hoping it would last long enough for Matt to earn a decent amount of time with Foggy.

“Pity he didn’t poison his tongue,” Matt mumbled in Foggy’s ear, and he felt his soft chuckle.

“Be nice,” Foggy murmured, his lips brushing Matt’s ear. Matt shivered at the cool breath. He lazily turned his head and kissed him lightly on the lips. He could get addicted to Foggy’s kisses. They hadn’t done any more than frantic makeout sessions while Wade bled out in the next room. But today, Wade was in the room with them so he didn’t feel comfortable with doing more than a peck on the lips. He threaded his fingers through glossy hair, marvelling as it slipped through his fingers.

“I love you,” Matt said it unthinkingly and then froze. He felt like he’d been floating, with Foggy tethering him in place. Foggy grounded him, kept him where he needed to be. But now, he’d ruined it. He’d said—

“I love you, too,” Foggy said, and he threw his arms around him. His robes were spread out on the rug, so it was just him that Matt was hugging. Matt clung to him, splayed his hands on Foggy’s wide back and pressed his body to his. He was perfect. He was everything that Matt needed. God, was this what it felt like to be happy? Truly happy? He’d never known such contentment. Or such peace. Foggy was like a cool balm on his troubled skin, he was…glorious.

“—and I’ll leave my copies of Gigantic Jugs magazines to Al. I know she won’t be able to read them, but maybe they’ll appreciate in value, in a few years. Gah, oh, I think the poison is really clogging up my— ugh — my guts…”

“You’re doing fine, buddy,” Foggy called, but his attention was instantly brought back to his lover, for Matt had begun nibbling on his ear. “Mmm, Matty, don’t…Wade’s right here, we can’t—”

Matt reluctantly let go of him. “Yeah, I know. We do appreciate what you’re doing, Wade.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get— _glck_ — sappy on m-me—” Wade’s knees buckled and he smacked down on the floor. Instantly, Foggy was at his side, propping a pillow under his head.

“What?” Foggy said. “We might as well get him comfortable!”

Matt dropped down to his knees besides Foggy, trying to ignore Wade’s wet splutters.

“Foggy, I know this situation is unorthodox—”

“That’s an understatement—”

“But, I think we can make this work. I want to be with you. Always.”

Foggy sighed, and his hands rubbed up and down Matt’s arms, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. “I love you. And I want this to work. But, we won’t be able to build a life together. I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m dead.”

“Yeah, but you’re dead like Wade. You’re not _dead_ dead. You’re not—”

“Decomposing? I guess. I don’t know. I’d love nothing more than for us to… I just hate the thought of you throwing your life away for me. You’ll never be able to introduce me to the people in your life…”

“There isn’t really anybody except you,” Matt said softly.

“Oh, Matty.” Foggy kissed him on the cheek. “Your two closest friends are a couple of walking corpses?”

”I’m a psychiatrist’s field day, right?”

“No! That’s the point! You’re such an amazing person but you’re too hard on yourself and it — it breaks my heart, Matt. I wish you’d be kinder to yourself.”

“You don’t know me.” Matt said and Foggy leaned back. “I know that you care about me but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Matt—”

“You don’t trust me—”

“That’s not true—”

“You think I don’t know what I want—”

“You don’t know what you want!” Foggy snapped and Matt reared back. “You’re making _me_ have to be the responsible one here, which sucks, because I never signed up for it! I’m not a human anymore, and here I am, having to tell a human what to do with his life!”

“You don’t tell me anyth—”

“Shut up. Sorry, but jeez, Matt. I get that you’re lonely. I know that you’ve got these senses and it’s isolating, and you haven’t got any family and—”

“You feel sorry for me,” Matt spat savagely. “You see me and you see a blind orphan and you think you have to take me under your wing—”

“No! That’s not— ugh, you’re so frustrating sometimes. You hate it when anybody offers you advice, you’re so pigheaded sometimes, you’ve always been like this and sometimes it’s fucking—” He stopped, and scooped up his robes, throwing them on.

Matt jerked to his feet. “You’re leaving? In the middle of an argument?”

“I’m not leaving, I’m getting ready. Wade’s almost fully dead, his soul will be climbing out of him soon, I gotta get back to work. I don’t — damn it, Matt — why do we have to end things on a bad note? Why does everything have to be so complicated? We were having a nice time!”

“You think I’m not serious about you. You think I see you as a novelty like I’m some teenage girl reading vampire novels. I know what you are, Foggy. I know _who_ you are. And I’m not scared. I — I like you. Love you.”

“You don’t know me.” Foggy said so quietly that Matt would have missed it, if he didn’t have powers. “You never liked me.”

“What?”

But Wade’s soul was burning hot, sending out sparks of heat. Foggy hefted his scythe in his hand and threw his hood over his face, the cotton rustling on his hair. “Gotta go, Matt. I don’t want to leave things on an argument, so I love you…just do some thinking, yeah?”

Matt had the distinct impression that he’d missed a step and now he was falling down the stairs. There was something Foggy was saying (or not saying) and it bothered him, but he wasn’t sure… Maybe he needed to do some thinking, like Foggy had said.

“Yeah. Sure. Um, Foggy—

“Don’t apologise. Just kiss me.”

He did. He didn’t apologise but he tried to pour some sweetness into the kiss. Foggy hefted the ball of soul energy under one arm, scythe in the other, and then, it was like he was never there.

Matt sighed. Ran a finger over his lips, savoured the memory of Foggy’s kiss. Then, he fetched a wet flannel and mopped blood from Wade’s slack mouth.

* * *

Wade took a shower and changed into his spare outfit. He’d worn casual clothes to the date, but now, he was strapped in as Deadpool. He smelt of gun oil and leather, and was bustling with excitement.

“How was it?”

Matt cuffed him on the head.

“What was that for?”

“You were making jokes when I was trying to set a mood with Foggy!”

“I’m a natural performer, it’s in my nature. Thanks for the beer, I should get going”

Wade turned to leave, but Matt grabbed his arm. “Um, listen. Foggy and I kind of left things on a weird note. But I’d like to see him again next week. When are you free?”

Wade started to answer but his phone chimed with a text. Sorry, just a sec — oh.”

“What?”

“Spidey needs my help.”

“You work with Spider-Man?”

“Heartmates,” Wade said vaguely. “He’s a pal. He needs me to go to Indonesia with him to take down a cult.”

“Indonesia? But that’s — that’s so far! You can’t leave! How long will you be gone?”

Wade shrugged.

“No, no, Wade, listen, you can’t leave. I need you here so I can be with Foggy—”

“I know! I’m sorry, man, but it’s — it’s Spidey. When he calls, I gotta go.”

“So, you’re just going to leave me? I thought you were better than that. I thought we were friends.”

“We are! DD, we _are_ friends! But Spidey is my — he’s like _my_ Foggy, okay? I’ll be as fast as I can. And then I’ll head back and you can do your Lady and the Tramp spaghetti shtick with your reaper babe, but until then, I gotta—”

Matt grabbed him, pulled on his arm. “Stay. Please.”

“No.” Wade said flatly. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can offer you money.” He couldn’t. Not really. But he could take out a loan.

“I’ve got money,” Wade snapped. “More than you.” 

“Please, just, don’t go yet…”

“Forget it. Look, Matt. I know you like Foggy, but don’t you think you’re shooting the moon? Dating a reaper. I know this has been fun for you but… He literally can’t even be in the same room as you unless there’s a dead body on the floor, and you think you can make it work? I’m here to tell you that you can’t, okay? You can’t make it work. Long-distance sucks, and that’s just when your partner is in a different country. He’s in a different realm. You must be stupid if you think that—”

“I KNOW!” Matt roared and Wade fell silent. “I know, alright? I know it’s ill-advised. And I know it’ll end badly. But I don’t _care,_ Wade! He’s all I want. I’ve tried to live a good life, I try to help people, don’t I deserve something? I’ve been royally screwed so many times, for so many years, doesn’t Matt Murdock deserve to win one for once in his miserable life! Wade…”

“You do…” Wade mumbled and it was so soft that Matt could barely hear him.

“Huh?”

“You deserve a good day. Just the one. But it’ll be a really, really good day if I have anything to say about it. I’m going to go and help Spidey but when I come back, I’ll help you. Okay?”

Wade’s hug was sudden, hard arms wrapping around Matt’s shoulders and hooking him in.

“I’ll pay you. For helping.”

“No, you won’t. Just — tell me what it was like. Yeah? The date, what you said, what he said. I wanna… I wanna believe in love again. Sometimes I think love’s the only thing that keeps a guy alive, you know?”

“I will,” he whispered. “I promise.”

* * *

He sat there and listened to Wade’s heartbeat until he was too far out of Matt’s range. Wade was excited, he could smell it. Tight muscles, bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgeting with the straps on his suit. He couldn’t wait to go trekking around with his buddy, Spider-Man.

Matt sloped off to Fogwells and punched out his poison. He hated being so reliant on another person. If he had a way to traverse the realms between life and death, he could hang out with Foggy for as long as he wanted, without Wade’s help. Forget stolen hours on Matt’s rug, they could spend whole days together. He smiled. It was a nice thought but not one that was grounded in reality.

But he was a resourceful guy, perhaps he could find another way of reaching Foggy.

* * *

One upside of Wade being away was that it left Matt more time to patrol. Between hanging out with Wade and his dates with Foggy and work, he hadn’t had much time recently. This was a good thing, he told himself as he suited up. Wade was helping Spider-Man, Matt was helping the people in Hell’s Kitchen. And Foggy was… Well, they’d meet soon.

He stopped a mugger and a burglar and then took a few minutes to catch his breath. The air was cool, rushing down his throat in deep gulps. Running in the night, hearing the buzz of neon lights and the resting heartbeats of sleeping people in their homes — he loved this.

And then he heard screaming.

A shrill shriek of fear, female. He ran headlong towards it, let it guide him. Her fear was potent, a tangible force, like running into a wall. He pinpointed the sound and rushed towards it. Alleyway. Two people, one male, one female. He wasted no time in reassuring her, he threw himself at the man, dragged him off her, tried to sweep one leg under his to topple him. But he was tired and he wasn’t prepared to fight, the guy managed to get one good punch in that made Matt’s head spin, he fell backwards, slamming into the wall and the man closed his hands around Matt’s throat.

The woman was still screaming but he felt her rush past him, running to safety. _Good._

Lying there panting, blood rushing in his ears. Bizarrely, he felt more alive than ever. Like his body was wired into the earth. His veins ran under the concrete level of the city, he felt aligned with it. 

He gasped, sucked in jagged breaths, grappled uselessly at the hands clawing at his throat. He had to get up, Murdocks always get back on their feet, just overthrow him, kick him, do something— 

He could do it. A wild thought snaked through the mire of his dazed brain.

_Just wait… Just wait a bit longer and Foggy will come..._

He lay there, slack, his heart pounding against his ribs as the hands tightened. 

_Foggy will come_ …

Hurts. He wheezed, desperate, wet sounds… His brain was — thoughts were inaccessible, it was hard to — he should have…

“Oh no, this is bad—”

He’d recognise that voice anywhere. He tried to sit up, but he felt weighed down. Was this what it was like to be dead? Lying stiffly in a coffin, numb limbs, never to move again? Is this what it had been like for Foggy?

“Foggy…”

“I harmed a human! That guy! I saw him choking you out and I panicked, I hit him on the head with my fucking scythe, we’re not supposed to do that, I’m going to be in so much trouble!”

Matt tried to brush Foggy’s hair off his face but his arm wouldn’t raise.

“Fog—” 

“Don’t even talk, you’re on thin ice, pal! What were you thinking? You could have died!”

“Foggy…” It was all he could think about in the blur of pain. How could one word hold so much meaning? “Foggy…”

“Yeah, okay, let’s get you to Claire’s, alright? Come on, upsadaisy.”

Matt blipped in out and out of consciousness on the journey to Claire’s apartment. He couldn’t recall much. The smell of rainwater dripping off Foggy’s hair. Footsteps. And the feeling of Foggy’s arms around him, steadying him, carrying him home.

Foggy laid him out on Claire’s fire escape. Dimly, he felt him press a kiss to his brow.

“I hate you,” Foggy said. “No, that’s a lie. But don’t ever fucking scare me like that again. You’re alive, Matt, and I like you that way. You've got an amazing gift and I don’t mean your weird sonar thing. You’re gonna have a long life, _I_ never got to have that. So, please don’t make any stupid risks again, okay?”

“Just...wanted...to meet...you..”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know, buddy. Well, now you don’t get me at all, do you?”

He rapped on Claire’s door and then stepped over Matt’s body, rushing down the stairs. His robes slithered on the steps as he hurried away.

* * *

Indonesia was nice, apparently.

When Wade returned from his jaunt abroad, he did as he promised and made a beeline to Matt’s apartment. He came bearing a souvenir gift, a small wooden carving of a komodo dragon. Was this what it meant to have friends? Matt accepted the gift wonderingly, running his fingers over the wooden ridges. When he raised it to his nose, it smelt like the sun.

“Let me use your shower then we’ll go Foggy-baiting.”

Matt said nothing, he sat down, still holding the dragon carving.

“Hey,” Wade said. He joined him on the couch. “Normally, I say that and you’re hopping around like a little, blind bunny. What gives?”

“Foggy’s — we had a disagreement.”

Wade snorted. “Oh, when I poisoned myself? He said something about you didn’t know what you wanted? All relationships have—”

“I met him again. Last week.”

“Last week? But I wasn’t here, I — Matt. Did you kill—”

“No! How could you ask me that? I was in a fight, there was a man, he tried to hurt a woman, he put his hands around my throat—”

“Shit.” And that was it. Wade knew. “You let him strangle you half to death so Foggy would show up.”

“He wasn’t happy when he found out.”

“Did he yell?”

Matt laughed drily. “Would have preferred it if he did. He didn’t say much, he was...so disappointed.”

“When they go quiet, that’s when you gotta worry. Spidey’s yelled at me a bunch of times, but when he says nothing, that’s when I freak out and try to do a bit of damage control.”

Matt placed the carving on his coffee table. “I never asked. Are you and him…?”

Wade slapped his thighs bracingly, and leapt up. “Damage control. That’s what we need. We’ll make sure your next date with Mr. Right is perfect! And he’ll have to forgive you!”

“I’m not sure there will be a next time,” Matt said dully. “He hates me.”

“Nah! He doesn’t hate you! He hates that you’re a risk-taking moron who doesn’t give a damn about his own safety. But we can work on that. We’ll give him an unforgettable date, flowers, champagne, the works. He won’t be able to resist you! You’ll go on the charm offensive, sweep him off his feet—”

“I don’t know—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day next week, this is kismet! Destiny!”

Matt blinked. “Valentine’s Day? I... I lost track of time.”

“That's why I like hanging out with you. You’re even more of a disaster than me!”

* * *

Valentine’s Day. Part of Matt wanted to claim that it was just another day. It was something exploited by Hallmark to sell cheap trinkets and tacky greetings cards. But another part of him kept being brought back to _He won’t be able to resist you_ , Wade’s words from last night. He could do this. He’d had girlfriends before, wined them and dined them. He knew how to say the right words, make overtures that could make a girl swoon. But with Foggy, there was this weight of expectation. If Foggy reacted badly to Matt’s acts or rejected him, there wouldn’t be another chance. Foggy was one in a million.

Wade was only too eager to help, and Matt was grateful. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull this off without him. Wade was, as Foggy had said before, an odd duck. He was constantly referencing things that hadn’t happened to holding whole conversations with the voices in his head. But he was fun, and he had a lot of good ideas.

“Obviously, you can’t take Foggy out for the date, because that means you two would be lugging my corpse around. What sort of stuff does he like?”

Matt thought back to previous conversations. “He said his ideal date is takeout and vegging out in front of the TV.”

“Cheap date,” Wade remarked and Matt elbowed him. “Okay, sorry. You’re very protective over him, aren’t you? Oh wait, you don’t own a TV, do you?”

Matt shook his head.

“Okay. Damn. Well, maybe we can buy you one. Or think of something else for you to do.”

* * *

Wade dragged Matt around the shops, loading him up with bags of shopping. 

“I should be an interior designer,” Wade said, throwing stuff in a trolley. “I have a designer’s eye!”

“What, did you gouge it out of someone’s body?”

“Har har, you’re so funny. I’m helping you and all you can do is bust my gonads. You know what your problem is?”

“How long have you got?”

“Your problem is, you never allow yourself anything nice. Sure, you’ve got those silk sheets—”

“How do you know about those?”

“—but you never allow yourself to have any luxury. Everything’s business with you. Foggy isn’t like that. He likes his creature comforts.”

“I keep forgetting you’ve known him for longer than I have. What was I thinking? I can’t do this.”

Wade rubbed his back. “Sure you can. I think we need a bit of your input. It’s your date, not mine. I’ve been thinking about how I’d romance Spi — uh, somebody else, but this is you and your date. What do you think Foggy would like?”

* * *

Matt asked Wade if he minded missing Valentine’s Day. Surely he could find something better to do than sit around in a pool of his own blood? Wade had laughed at that. He said his only date would be one with his pillow, so spending the day with Matt and Foggy was preferable. Matt now knew him long enough to know who Wade wished he was spending Valentine’s with. But he didn’t think he had any place to speak to him about that.

He listened to Wade get settled in the bathroom and then shoot themself in the stomach. Wade had said that the longer the death, the more time Matt got with Foggy. He’d tried to hold it off for as long as he could but if they ran out of time, he’d kill himself again.

The gunshot rang out and then Matt waited. Wade had helped him pick out a suit. Black. And a red silk tie. He smoothed his hair down. And waited.

“Wade? Where’s your soul, buddy?” He heard Foggy coo from the bathroom, like you would to a shy cat.

“Foggy! In here!” Matt called out. He smiled as he heard Foggy enter the room. “Wade’s giving us some privacy.”

“Privacy? For what?”

He stood, standing barefoot on the rug. He felt the weight of Foggy’s gaze sweep up and down him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Foggy.”

Foggy snorted, turning his head around to see the decorations. They’d been Wade’s idea. “Is this a joke? You put up fairy lights! Oh my God, you made a picnic!”

He’d laid out snacks on the rug. He wasn’t great with the presentation, but it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t exactly take Foggy out for a romantic picnic in the park, so he’d had to bring the picnic to him.

Matt darted over and grabbed his hand. Foggy automatically laced his fingers with Matt’s and it thrilled him.

“No jokes. Wade’s going to try hanging on for as long as he can, so you can stay here. I thought you’d want shore leave.”

“Shore leave?” Foggy said uncertainy and for one tense second, Matt thought he was going to refuse. But then he shrugged and dropped to the rug, pulling his legs up into a cross-legged position. “Okay, fine. You’ve worn me down, Murdock. This is really nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If we haven’t got long, let’s make it count.”

“You can eat, right?” Matt asked him.

“I stole a few handfuls of some girl’s fries about three years ago when I was harvesting the soul of a racer. Good times. I mean, good for me, not for the guy in the car. It’s cool that I can eat without any consequences, but now I’m not in a position where I can appreciate it, sadly.”

“You don’t need to lose weight,” Matt told him earnestly. “You’re perfect already.”

“I was talking more about when you eat a lot of meat and you get the pork sweats, but thanks, man. That’s actually kind of...you’re a bit of a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Matt ducked his head. “I’m really not.”

“Nah, I bet that’s a ruse. The big, bad macho vigilante thing is a cover for a grade-A sweetheart.”

“Don’t tell people, I’ll never live it down!”

“Sweetheart,” Foggy said again, chuckling. He reached over and plucked up a strawberry from a plate and popped it in his mouth. “Mm, that’s good. Really fresh. I miss food. I miss a lot of things but I really, really miss food.”

Matt propped himself up on his elbows. “What else do you miss?”

“TV. We don’t have that back home. Limbo. I miss...I miss dirt. I know that sounds strange but Hell’s Kitchen is cramped and filthy and I kind of love it.”

Matt grinned. He knew exactly what he meant.

“I miss things being unclean and cluttered. I miss falling over drunk and scraping my knees. I’m making myself sound like an alchoholic, aren’t I? I swear I’m not!”

“I know you’re not,” he said. “What’s it like? Limbo?”

Foggy chucked another strawberry in his mouth. “It’s very clean. And pretty. I know what you’re thinking, it’s not Heaven. But it’s like it. But it’s not. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like, it’s like when you go to a coastal town. Um, you’re surrounded by water and there’s always this fresh smell of the ozone in the air, and there’s seagulls circling your head and people walk slowly. Everybody in coastal towns, Matt, they walk so damn _slow._ And you get the feeling like it doesn’t matter if you’ll get there quickly or slowly because you don’t have anywhere to be and it’s a nice day so you might as well take the scenic route. If you imagine all of that, but you take away the sea, and the seagulls and the tacky tourist shops, that’s what my home is like.”

“It sounds nice. Peaceful.”

“It is. It’s certainly better than the alternative,” Foggy said.

Matt swallowed. Curled his fingers around his napkin until his palm crushed it into a tight, hard ball. “What’s Hell like?”

Foggy knocked his sneaker against Matt’s boot. “Come on, Matt, I don’t want to keep talking shop. Can we change the subject?”

He was disappointed, but not very. This was supposed to be a fun day for the both of them, and eternal damnation was probably a buzzkill. “Sure.”

They spent time talking about Hell’s Kitchen, shops, the news. Foggy was very amused by Matt’s ability to catch M&Ms in his mouth.

“I was great at beer pong,” Foggy told him, flicking another M&M into Matt’s mouth. “College was fun.”

“You went to college?”

* * *

They spent hours together. Eating, talking, kissing. Matt pulled him down on the rug at some point, Foggy accidentally knocked a bowl of dip over. But neither of them cared. And it was only when midnight dawned that Foggy got to his feet and began hunting for his robes.

“I really hope I didn’t spill sour cream drip on my threads, who wants a gooey Grim Reaper?”

Matt handed him the bundle of fabric and Foggy gratefully took it. “It was nice of Wade to do this for us.”

“Yeah. Probably shouldn’t make a habit of this,” Foggy said. “I know he plays it cool, but repeatedly dying, it takes its toll on you.”

Matt buttoned up his shirt, and let Foggy pull him to his feet. “When I die—”

“Whoa, you managed a few hours without talking about your own mortality, that must be a new record! No, but what about when you die?”

“When I die, I’ll be taken to Hell or Heaven. Right?”

Foggy sighed. “There’s a place for everything, Matt. Everything that was created, everything that was born. It has its own house. And when you… When you eventually die…which hopefully won’t be for a very long time…you’ll have your own little house, too.”

“I know where I’m headed,” Matt told him. He pointed. Down.

Foggy hmm’ed. “Something tells me you’re not talking about Australia! I’m not here to convince you of anything, debate your morality. I don’t have a weighing scales in my pocket, I can’t measure the purity of your soul. But in my professional opinion? You’re Heaven-bound. Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Oh, wow, that’s my pager. I gotta go, buddy. I’d better hustle. But we’ll meet again very soon. I enjoy our talks.”

* * *

Wade staggered back to the living room and slumped on the couch. He reeked of blood but his voice was steady as he said, “I know that smile! Somebody got lucky!”

“Hey, shut up,” Matt said, passed him the half-full bag of M&Ms. “Thanks. For...you know.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be able to make a habit of it, but I’m happy you guys had a good time. Your bathroom now looks like a Jackson Pollock painting, by the way. Won’t be getting that security deposit back.”

“Worth it,” Matt said. “So worth it.” He thought of something. “You remember you said that you could get me the number of a private investigator? Do you think I could speak to her?”

“Sure. But if you wanna know anything about Foggy, you could just ask him. You don’t need to get a detective on it.”

“I know it sounds stupid, but… I think I want to meet his parents.”

* * *

Wade set up an appointment with his private investigator friend, and Matt realised he’d heard of her before. Jessica Jones. She’d made the news in the past, and people whisper her names in the street. She was very grumpy and very good, according to Wade.

He told her everything over a beer, the voice, Foggy Nelson, Wade, reapers. He left out any mentions of his night job, even though Wade promised that Jessica could be trusted. Jones took notes half-heartedly and swiped the last of Matt’s beer. She promised to call him when she had some information for him — but he didn’t hold out much hope.

He didn’t give her a lot to go on.

So, it was with some surprise that he received her phone call three days later.

“I asked around about your boy, Foggy. Apparently, he was well-known in Hell’s Kitchen — or his family was. Everybody knows the Nelsons. He’s got family nearby, a mom, dad and a brother, Theo and a sister, Candace. They all live and work here.”

“Did you find out what killed him?”

“Hit-and-run accident. I found an obituary and a newspaper article. He jaywalked and got hit by a drunk driver.”

“Thanks, Jessica. Um, could you give me his family’s address?”

“His folks run a butcher shop. Nelson’s Meats. Probably better for you to go there instead of turning up at their house. I’ll text you the address.”

* * *

He made his way to Nelson’s Meats on a bright Monday morning. He called into the office and informed Karen he’d be late. She expected it, always seeing her boss turn up with fresh cuts and bruises. Sometimes, he thought she knew his secret, but she was perhaps too polite to mention it.

The thick smell of meat and blood hit his nose as he strode into the shop, tapping his cane on the floor. A man greeted him, it had to be the brother. He approached the counter and self-consciously adjusted his glasses, feeling the weight of the man’s stare.

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Edward and Anna Nelson?”

* * *

He’d been expecting suspicion and difficult questions, but Edward and Anna were happy to talk about their son. All he had to do is say that he thought that he met their son once, and they ushered him into a back room and plied him with tea and cake.

“Did you go to school with him? He was such a bright boy.” Anna said, dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve. She apologised, told Matt that thinking about her step-son brought out the tears but she was always happy to reminisce.

“I went to college,” Matt said, a half-truth. “I didn’t know him that well, I was wondering if you could tell me more about him? What was he like in college?”

“Oh, he was a sweetheart. We had some difficulties when he told us he wanted to be a lawyer, we weren’t — we didn’t understand. We’d always hoped he’d join the family business. But we knew he was serious and we tried to understand. We loved him so much. And he — he—”

Foggy had mentioned studying law. It was one of the many reasons Matt enjoyed talking to him. Foggy could keep up with him and his rambling tangents. He’d asked him where he’d studied, but they’d been distracted by Wade waking up.

“He had good friends at school. He had that girl he was sweet on, God, what was her name? Marla?”

“Marci. She sent us that lovely card, remember? She was a pretty girl.”

“That’s right,” Edward said. “Although, I think he had a bit of hero worship for that roommate of his. He used to write us, tell us about the school and how his studies were going. And that roommate, I think Franklin thought the sun shone out of his—”

“Ted!”

“—What? It’s true—”

Franklin. _Franklin Nelson._ Oh God—

“He loved that boy. ‘Matt did this, Matt did that, Matt laughed at my joke!’ I used to tell him, Franklin, no matter what you do, or who you love, your family will always support—”

“I have to go,” Matt says, cutting Edward off. He stood so abruptly that his cane hit the floor. He could hear Edward and Anna turn to each, silently communicating with their eyes.

“Son, is something wrong? Why don’t you sit down, you’re looking very—”

“I’m fine,” Matt said shortly. He had to get out, he was going to be sick. “I just remembered something I have to do. But it was nice meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson.”

“You too,” Edward replied. He stooped to pick up Matt’s cane, the bones in his back clicking and Matt held out his hand. Accepted the stick.” Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Uh — Wade. Wade…Jones.”

* * *

Franklin Nelson.

How could he have forgotten him?

Matt’s first roommate at Columbia. Foggy had been pleasant to talk to, laid-back and friendly, and he’d apologised when Matt had tripped over his discarded sneakers. He’d tried to accommodate Matt. Tidied his belongings away, worn headphones when he was watching videos on his computer. But the problem was, he couldn’t help but impinge on Matt’s space. Franklin occupied so much space, he created _so much_ sensory information and not all of it was pleasant.

The greasy fried food, the noxious energy drinks. When he’d slip off for an hour and return reeking of marihuana (fortunately, those occasions were rare). And the snoring. Every single night. It was like a drill boring through Matt’s skull. And Franklin would apologise and try to sleep on his side or his front, but he’d roll over on his back and the sound would commence. Every night. Matt was struggling to study, to sleep. And his ‘roomie’ had no idea.

* * *

_“You! You’re my problem! You’re like a human foghorn, seriously, how is a human being able to make that much noise? It’s like your nose is a pneumatic drill! And if you’re not snoring, you’re eating disgusting food or those cheesy potato chips, they stink and the smell permeates the whole room!”_

_“Matt—”_

_“If you want to poison your own body, go ahead, but leave me out of it. How am I supposed to sleep and study when you’re so — obnoxious! You’re selfish, you don’t have any clue on how your actions affect me. I’m sick of it, I feel like being made to live with you was some cruel joke! What did I do to deserve you?”_

_Franklin doesn’t speak for several long seconds. Matt’s breath is coming out in short gasps, his chest feels too tight and his fingers keep clenching into fists. He wishes he had the old sandbag to punch._

_But then he smells salt, hears tears trickling down Franklin’s cheeks and a hasty sniff. His anger is extinguished as quickly as it started. If his rage was an all-consuming blaze, Foggy’s tears have quenched it. “Look, man, I didn’t mean—”_

_“No, you’re right,” Franklin says softly. “I guess I can be kind of a pill. And it’s not fair that you have to deal with that any longer. First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna speak to the RA to see about moving dorms.”_

_“Look, um. You don’t need to. I can buy earplugs or—”_

_“No, Matt, I think I do.”_

* * *

They’d never become friends. Never had the chance. After Franklin moved to a different dorm, he stayed clear of Matt. And Matt had had no reason to try and befriend him, he hadn’t known...hadn’t had any idea of what this man would mean to him.

Wade tried to get him to ‘talk it out’. He suggested a meeting between the three of them, and Matt quickly shut that down. He had nothing to say. Foggy had lied to him. Alright, it was more like a lie of omission. Things were unsaid. But how could he do that?

“Maybe he thought you wouldn’t like him if you knew him,” Wade suggested. He was curled up, knitting a scarf for Spider-Man. 

Matt twisted strands of wool in his hands. “You don’t get it. You’d never understand.”

“No. I don’t. I don’t know his reasons for not telling you. And neither do you! The only person who can explain this crap is him. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m gonna shoot myself, he’s gonna turn up and you’re gonna have a chat with him. If you don’t, I will dedicate the rest of my life to bugging the hell out of you. Seriously, you think I’m annoying now? You ain’t seen nothing!”

“Fine! Summon him. I don’t care.”

Wade shot himself while Matt paced his room, waiting. Finally, he heard the scrape of the scythe, the swish of heavy fabric dragging on his floor.

“Hey, Matt! It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? I thought you must be busy…”

And Foggy was grabbing his face and kissing him, but Matt twisted, turned his face away.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew me?”

“Matt!”

“We met at school.” He said. He swallowed. “We _lived_ together. And you never said!”

“We lived together for a few weeks, over twelve years ago, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal.” He broke apart, pushed on Foggy’s chest so he had to step back. “It’s a huge deal.”

“Why?”

“Because we could have had years together!”

“What—”

“We could have lived together, Foggy. In a dorm. And then, graduated together. I could have met your parents, I could have taken you to visit my dad’s grave! We could have moved in together after college…”

“And then what?”

“We could have started our own business. A law firm, we could help people.”

“Murdock & Nelson?”

“Nelson & Murdock,” Matt said, and he heard Foggy laugh. “Sounds better that way.”

“I guess it does sound pretty good. And then what?”

“We’d date, and live together and work together and then, I suppose — I suppose I’d—-” 

Foggy drew closer, laid a hand on Matt’s arm. “Yeah, Matty?”

“I’d make you marry me.”

“You’re sounding very confident there, counselor,” Foggy murmured. “What makes you so sure I’d say yes?”

“I can be very persuasive,”

Foggy snickered. “Is that right? Okay, let me suspend my disbelief that a fine piece of ass like me hasn’t already had his head turned by some other guy. Let’s say that I agree to marry you. What then?”

“Well...then we get married. And maybe—” _Don’t say it. It’s cruel to say. “_ —We could--” _He’ll hate you and you’ll hate yourself._ “We could have a baby. We could adopt.”

Foggy sighed, and his hand brushed a lock of hair out of Matt’s eyes. Matt leaned into it, rubbing his cheek against Foggy’s soft palm and foolishly wishing that it pulsed with life and warmth. “Matt, I love the idea of it. All of it. Living with you, and working together. Kids. But don’t you remember our wedding vows?”

“I—"

“‘Til death do us part. I’m already dead. We’ve already parted.”

His hand, which had been so soothingly wrapped around Matt’s sore cheekbone, disappeared. It was as if it had simply stopped being, as if he’d glitched out of existence. There was no whisper of hair on a fraying collar, no huff of breath or a well-timed laugh. No Foggy. Matt sank down to a seated position, rested his back against the wall. It was a stupid thought. And he’d wasted their precious time together with what-ifs and regrets. He made a vow to himself. The next time he met Foggy, he was going to make every second count.

* * *

The truth is, there isn’t any one moment of happily ever after, because life doesn’t work that way. Life isn’t a montage of images, you can’t clip parts out or rearrange them. You live every day of your life, happily or otherwise, until you die. You don’t really have a choice.

It would be nice to say that Wade finally found the courage to confess his love to a certain arachnid-themed superhero, and it would be even nicer to say that Matt and Foggy found a way to permanently bridge the gap between mortality so they could enjoy each other's company forever. But neither of those things happened. Wade continued assisting Spider-Man with his hero work, and he continued chaperoning Matt and Foggy’s dates. Perhaps the real love was the friendship at work. Spider-Man may have saved Wade’s neck in desperate times on their missions, but Matt, Foggy and Wade could sit around on Matt’s couch, drinking beer and watching the game on the new TV Wade had bought him. So, perhaps that’s what their happily ever after was. It certainly felt like it.


End file.
